


Nesting Habits

by Afoolforatook



Series: An Anthology of Affection [15]
Category: RWBY
Genre: Comfort, Crow!Qrow, Fluff, M/M, No Beta, brief alcoholism mention
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:21:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 889
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25213852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Afoolforatook/pseuds/Afoolforatook
Summary: Out on his own, a feathered rest was practical.Alone at night, a flight was an escape.Against a warm chest, a bird could find a simple comfort.----------Part 15Saw a post of kissing prompts. Liked a bunch of them. Decided to give myself a daily challenge to get myself actually publishing things while I work on bigger projects.One prompt a day. Under 1500 words (or close to it).
Relationships: Qrow Branwen/Clover Ebi
Series: An Anthology of Affection [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1805008
Comments: 14
Kudos: 76





	Nesting Habits

**Author's Note:**

> A little hurt/comfort (mostly comfort) fluff to follow yesterday's angst?

Prompt 15 (changed from original) - Soft kiss as the other falls asleep. 

Nesting Habits

\------------

On particularly bad nights, Qrow would sometimes transform. The bird couldn’t feel the racing thoughts or exponential building of pressure in his lungs. He was still aware of the pain, but it was so much simpler that way, less of everything all at once. On the worst nights, it was a relief to leave behind the complexities of humanity, if only for a while. 

Before Atlas, before Brunswick, he would’ve sought a drink first. But when finding a bar to tuck into wasn’t an option - or on some occasions, still didn’t work - that’s when the bird came in handy. On the road he might transform and sleep in a tree, telling himself it was for ease, for safety. But if a bad night happened to come on the rare occasions he had to sleep in a real bed, he’d fly. He’d fly until he was too exhausted to think when he finally returned to human form.

On nights where he had his own bed, sleeping in feathers vs flesh made no difference. The small bird felt too exposed, too cold, too alone in a bed all by himself. So he’d fly. 

But then there was Clover. 

Then, there was him and Clover. 

And eventually, there was a warm body in bed to comfort him. 

Those nights changed, once Clover was there. They were still awful. But for the first time, he could transform and have some sense of security, not just borrowed time. With Clover, the bird became a means of comfort rather than a desperate escape. 

Most often, the younger huntsman would find the small lump of feathers curled up on a familiar red cape. When nights were bad enough for the bird Qrow usually didn’t want to talk about it first. So the cape was his way, his safe and trusty red flag, of letting Clover know. The bird might appear on other nights, to cuddle and preen, but as long as the cape was folded away, Clover knew not to worry. 

But when it wasn’t he knew what to do. 

Clover would scoop him up from wherever he found him, laying the cape on his dresser, and find a warm, soft blanket. He’d sit on the edge of the bed and loosely tuck cloth around the small form, building a makeshift nest; plenty of folds in the fabric for Qrow to nuzzle under if he wished. 

As he got him settled, sometimes Clover would talk softly, telling pointless, light stories. Or he’d sing, hum, quietly. And sometimes he’d stay quiet, a comforting hushing breath the only sound between them. 

Once he was done he’d scoot back into bed, slipping under the covers, before carefully settling Qrow’s blanket at his side, pushed right up against him. 

Some nights Qrow would stay tucked in the nest, just close enough to know Clover was there but needing the small distance. 

Or sometimes he’d reach his head out, resting his beak on Clover’s arm, or pushing his head to rest against the side of his ribs.

Sometimes he’d barely stay in the blanket a few minutes, before hopping up and ruffling his feathers before sinking down onto Clover’s chest. Or maybe he’d move higher; snuggling into the crook of his neck or burying himself in the fluffy tuft of soft brown hair. 

On this night, it was Clover’s chest he gravitated to. Smooth feathered cheek pressed to his skin. He liked to feel the gentle rise and fall of Clover’s breath as he fell asleep. 

Clover watched him, hand running over soft wings soothingly. His eyes were closed; he’d fallen asleep a while before, tiny body still shaking slightly as Clover held him. Sometimes Clover thought it looked like he was dreaming, as every so often he’d nuzzle closer or puff out his feathers slightly. But Qrow never seemed to remember dreams from those nights. Clover had long ago decided that was a good thing. Dreams on bad nights like that were rarely anything close to pleasant. 

Clover yawned, switching the hand holding Qrow so that he could reach to hit the light on his bedside table. 

He leaned back, settling further into bed, and scooted Qrow a little higher up; his head resting squarely over Clover’s heart. 

The Ace Ops leader looked down at the small form curled against him. Qrow would always balk at Clover calling his avian form cute, even though it undeniably was (the kids took a poll). Close like this, Clover could see tiny streaks of grey sprinkled in soft plumage, and the subtle, nearly imperceptible, shape of a cross on his breast. 

Clover always thought the man was beautiful, no matter the form or manner. But there were two versions of his cherished face that Clover was happiest to see. Whether it was feathers or stubble pressed to his chest, there was a peace to his features that clutched at Clover’s heart. 

He leaned forward, careful not to jostle Qrow’s gentle breath. Clover placed the lightest kiss to the top of the cool black beak, fingers trailing gently across his head. 

If Clover Ebi could be thankful for one thing in his life, it would be the chance to be a part of granting his sweet bird a peaceful rest.

**Author's Note:**

> We all needed it after that...
> 
> Switched the prompt cause I just needed something that would allow birb tenderness. 
> 
> \-----------  
> There were 50 prompts originally, but I've already thought of a few more. Also had multiple ideas for a few, which is why some might be listed as chapter 1, with a future version of the prompt coming later.
> 
> Might not end up sticking strictly to the daily thing, but I'll do my best. Either way, here's an ongoing series of little moments.
> 
> Original prompt list - https://kashimalin-fanfiction.tumblr.com/post/178524845380/50-types-of-kisses-writing-prompts
> 
> Might edit here and there later, but the goal here was to just finish something, even if it's not perfectly polished.


End file.
